"Expendable Intern," Fling said to the Parturian leader. "May my body rest next to yours?"

His beak swung in her direction. A pair of long-lashed eyes focused on hers. "You would separate me from half my retinue? I am suspicious."

"I am brave," Fling warned him. "You should train your brain to be brave as well. Allow my big cat to curl up beside you. Arch Beacon, pilot the cage of your spider-snake up onto the table where my eyes can admire his fangs."

The priest hopped back to allow a Neurospastic server to place an appropriately-shaped chair for her, while her new neighbor muttered in his beak. "Non-Parturians are impossible."

Fling's incisors gnawed at her wooden staff, nose twitching as different parts of her brain struggled against each other. But her ears remained erect, a sign of decision, and a flap of her tail gained the attention of most of the table. The Admirable Self-Flinger bared her incisors, fired up her vocal motor cortex,1 and chattered.

"Fellow Sophonts! Your company thrills me. Friends, you hold me back. Strangers, you are attractive. Humans, thank you for welcoming us into your moon-cult ritual."

"Uh," said Mark. Qani laughed, Severo smirked, Li's expression did not change, and Chadwell reached for his wine.

"We Toxoplasmotics have a saying 'the full moon illuminates dreams,'" said Fling. "The sun shows what you see, but the moon shows what might be. Wonderful futures and terrible, but we won't know which is which until we make them."

Ambassador Li applauded, thinking, A civilization of mad scientists! He was glad he didn't have to sit next to the giant suicidal squirrel-priest or her huge cat. On the other hand, the space to his right had been taken by the space-robot and its pet.

The spider-snake skittered around and around in its clear carrying case, squealing like a teakettle.

"Please place the soup bulb in the cage of my little Scuttly. Yes, yes, Scuttly. You're hungry, aren't you? Don't jump out of your cage now. Don't envenomate the nice people. Be careful, please. Don't let her jump out of her cage."

Ambassador Li kept his expression from changing. He stayed motionless until the server (with the help of nearly-invisible stagehand robots) introduced the warm bulb of soup to the spider-snake. It leaped, plunged its foreleg-fangs into the meal, and backed off, waiting for the soup to die.

"It is a very interesting creature," Li hazarded.

"Yes," said Arch Beacon Clay. "I love to watch him eat. The process is so wet."

Li didn't know what to say to that. He bought himself time by trying some of his own soup. It was good, but he was no connoisseur of shark-fin soup. It was expensive stuff, and he'd been in his twenties before he got his first taste. More of an honor than a taste experience. What Li was really looking forward to was the river snails.

"Your mouth is wet too," said Arch Beacon Clay.

Li paused with the spoon in his mouth. "Yes?"

"I like it," the Tensor assured him.

"Oh," said Li. "I am…glad you like my mouth."

"May I look inside?"

Li put down his spoon. "Why?"

Lasers sparkled over Clay's thirty-two faces. "I am always intrigued by such passages into one's depths. They are so vulnerable."

Colored dots of light played over the Ambassador's very firmly shut lips.

"Are you shy?" asked Clay. "Most organic sophonts are only shy about their anuses. Or are you one of those for whom waste comes out the same orifice that food goes in?"

Li wasn't sure if he was being insulted, but was more certain that he was speaking to a superior. Best to play along.

"Not at all," he said. "By all means, examine my mouth, Arch Beacon." He resisted the urge to say "ah."

The spinning virus-shape sparkled, as if with camera flashes. "A closed palate, I see. The dangling thing in the back of your throat is quite ornamental. Those teeth are both for pinching and grinding? Can they stab?"

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Not that I'm aware of." Li worked saliva back into his mouth. The space robot seemed to be waiting for him to say something. "And how do you eat, Arch Beacon?"

"With great care. My shell has many layers, and between the layers are many tiny cracks. When these cracks are brought into alignment, particles may pass between one layer and another, but never to a third. To connect to the third layer, the shells must move again, and so on until the particle reaches my core."

Li thought that sounded like many tiny airlocks, but he was afraid to say so, in case he was wrong. He had done enough ridiculous things so far this evening. For this reason, he changed the subject, and so lost the chance to learn how Tensors excrete waste, grow, and deal with the inevitability of their own mortality.

"I was told you're a dentist by profession, Arch Beacon?"

***

Qani Ahmed turned at the clacking sound behind her and started at the sight of a pumpkin-headed, stilt-legged suit of armor.

"Stand aside!" It boomed. "That's my place."

She turned, and put her hands on her hips.

"Who are you?"

Scratching noises from inside the armor, as if rats lived in there. "What do you mean nobody's asked for our name before? Tell her something! Food! Yeah. Food…bag. Foodbag I am! And who are you, who blocks my way?"

"It sounds like there are two of you in there."

"Yeah? What if there are?"

"I am Qani Ahmed, I am the Consul of the United Nations Embassy to the Convention of Sophonts, and I recognize a pair of naughty boys when I hear them. You may sit by me, but only if you promise to behave yourselves."

More skittering. Eyes stared out at her from hatches in the head and chest of the armor.

"Do you promise?" asked Qani.

"Yes."

"Good." She made room for the armor. "Now tell me, which one of you is Food and which is Bag?"

***

Dr. Kaliannan tried to concentrate on his vegetables. Stir-fried greens, they seemed to be. They tasted quite good. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine he was still in his safe little clinic. The night air was cold, and the smells were strange. Webs hung all around him, swarming with spiders and —

Something squelched next to him.

"Good evening. Is this seat taken?" The translator spoke over a sound like dozens of scissors embedded in knee-high mud.

Kaliannan opened his eyes and looked down into a huge, wet, cruciform pupil.

"I don't want to be here," the Quotidian assured him, "but I know it's good for me." A slurp from somewhere between her legs. "These vegetables aren't bad, are they?"

Across the table, Mark started. "Is that mix Sty?" He leaned toward Fling. "I thought you said she would hate this party."

"I'm sure she does! That's why I invited her, and why she accepted." Fling poked at her stir-fried vegetables, a chopstick in each hand. "These eating implements are impossible, aren't they? I love them!"

Mark became aware that mix Sty was staring at him over the edge of the table. She had a lot of eyeball to stare with. He cleared his throat. "Quotidian mix Sty. How's work?"

"What work? You haven't called me since our last meal together."

Mark smiled. "But, Quotidian, you told me you never wanted to work with me again."

"What I want has nothing to do with it. As your Pitiful Species case officer, it's my duty to improve your cultural standard. Didn't you notice my warm and generous encouragement?"

That familiar shiver up the back of the spine. That shriveling feeling in the gut. Someone had screwed up, and it was him

Mark attempted a jab. "I just thought you would enjoy having more time at home. With your clones I mean."

"Of course the company of my clones is infinitely more pleasurable than yours."

Mark thought of Severo's bed.

"But we cut canals into the mud, do we not?" said mix Sty.

Mark smiled. "I suppose we do."

***

The whine of an electric motor announced the arrival of Digeridoo the Monumental. This time, he rode a skateboard with tank treads, which chewed the forest floor into more pleasing mud-wallows.

He parked next to Chadwell. "Human! Give me your raw fish!"

The Deputy Chief, already on his third glass of wine and preoccupied with thoughts about his wife back on Earth, looked around for help. "Laura?"

Laura stood and peered over the table at the long, blubbery guest. What was it his queen had called him? A constipated prat? "Eat your vegetables," she told him.

Digeridoo rolled over to show his belly. After that, he quietly ate what was given him.

1Arriaga G, Jarvis ED. Mouse vocal communication system: are ultrasounds learned or innate? Brain Lang. 2013 Jan;124(1):96-116. doi: 10.1016/j.bandl.2012.10.002. Epub 2013 Jan 4.